


Avengers pairing ficlets

by JaneTurenne



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, M/M, ship everything regret nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneTurenne/pseuds/JaneTurenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a writing exercise, I challenged myself to write 28 Avengers ficlets, one each for every possible pairing among the six Avengers plus Coulson and Loki.  The results will appear here as they're written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor/Clint

“It is not that I do not think he should be here,” Thor is telling Tony, for the thousandth time, as they walk down one of the Triskelion’s many corridors, “but in Asgard, warriors who attack from a distance are not thought to be among the most…”

Thor jerks back suddenly against the wall as an arrow sprouts from his cape. Before he can even attempt to pull it out, a further six arrows draw his outline on the wall, and, as he stares in horror, a further six after that, ending in one that plants itself directly between his legs, a hairsbreadth away from disaster. Clint’s face appears, upside-down, hovering just in front of Thor where the archer dangles from a ceiling beam.

“Care to finish that sentence?” asks Clint, sweetly. “Something like ‘intelligent foes to fuck with’ would do just nicely.”

“Your point is made, Archer,” says Thor, slightly nervously. “You may stop pointing that arrow in my face.”

“You’ve been badmouthing me for months, blondie,” says Clint. “And that’s cool. You’re hardly the only one who thinks I don’t belong on this team. Frankly, I don’t give a shit. I know why I’m here even if you don’t. But I think you deserve a little humiliation of your own. You want me to let you go? Give us a kiss.”

“Us?” Thor asks, genuinely confused.

Clint rolls his eyes. “ _Me_.”

“Man of Iron,” says Thor, “will you let him do this to me?”

Tony leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “I know better than to go up against that baddass,” says Tony, inclining his head in Clint’s direction. “I think I’ll just stand here and enjoy the view.”

Thor sighs and looks back to Clint, whose eyebrows are upraised in expectation. Leaning around the arrow pointed at his nose, Thor leans in and kisses Clint directly on the mouth. Rather than going for the quickest possible peck, Thor throws himself into the kiss without doubt or hesitation, and lingers…and lingers…and keeps lingering until the moment Clint’s arrow buries itself in the floor just beside Thor’s foot.

“Right,” says Tony, cheerfully. “Well, boys, thanks for the best show I’ve had all week. I’ll just be heading along this way, you keep up the good work.”

Thor tugs his cloak free of his shoulders, leaving it pinned to the wall and himself free to walk away. “I will underestimate you no longer, archer,” says Thor.

Clint swings himself back up into the rafters with a grin. “Don’t forget it,” says Clint. He leaps from his rafter to the next, to the next, to the next, and drops down to the floor just in front of the door at the hall’s end. “And Norse boy?” he says, as he’s passing through the door, “just in case you’re wondering, there’s a whole lot more where that comes from.”


	2. Natasha/Bruce

She’s so thoroughly trained in instantaneous response that her conscious mind doesn’t even register the decision. The sound of Tony’s mocking is echoing down the hall, Bruce is storming away from that direction looking distinctly chartreuse, and Natasha has no desire to find herself in the way of his fists when he Hulks. It’s a simple matter of doing what needs to be done, and anyway, it takes scarcely thirty seconds to finish the job.

“Whu…what?” stutters Bruce, as Natasha wipes her mouth discreetly, and tucks his already softening cock back into his pants.

“Calmer now, aren’t you?”

“…Much,” he admits.

“Good,” she says. “Try to tell anyone about this, and you’ll be dead before you finish your sentence. Understood?”

He nods, with a visible swallow.

“And Bruce?” says Natasha. “In the interest of maintaining your continued calm, you’re forbidden from speaking to Tony Stark ever again.”

“Yes ma’am.”


	3. Steve/Coulson

The time he finds a perfectly red apple waiting for him in his office, conspicuous and shining in the middle of his desk, Coulson is convinced it’s some variety of prank. When he unexpectedly discovers a steaming cup of coffee, he passes it off as a poisoning attempt. It isn’t until the day he catches Captain America leaving a pair of chocolate chip cookies wrapped in a crisp paper napkin on the corner of his desk that Coulson is forced to reconsider.

“You spend your life working to keep us safe,” Steve explains, shuffling nervously. “It seemed the least I could do.”

Agent Phil Coulson, formerly the most overworked and under-appreciated man in SHIELD, looks up and up into Steve Rogers’ eyes. “Don’t tell any of the others,” says Coulson, “but you are so very much my favorite.”

Steve blushes furiously. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbles. “I’ll just…I’ll be going, if you don’t need me.”

“Dismissed, Captain.”

America’s greatest hero hurries away, apparently mortified to be caught in the shameful act of doing something kind. And Agent Coulson settles himself comfortably behind his desk, carefully unwraps the napkin, smiles softly at the freshly-baked treasure within, and takes a bite.


	4. Tony/Loki

Tony is only too well aware of his own reputation. If the rumors were to be believed, he’d have seduced half of Manhattan within a week of arriving at SHIELD HQ, and even though that is in fact a gross exaggeration, he can’t exactly argue that he’s ever been a poster child for abstinence and self-control. But he still thinks it’s unfair that any of his teammates would believe he’s been sleeping with the enemy.

“They’re clearly fakes!” Tony protests. “Honestly, I know I’m the genius in the room, but are the rest of you really slow enough to believe that the god of mischief is incapable of doctoring a few photos?”

“Right,” says Natasha, rolling her eyes. “You’ve adopted a ‘just say no’ policy, is that it?”

“Coming from you, sweetheart...” Tony begins, but given the look on Natasha’s face and Tony’s desire to live out the week, he’s not entirely unhappy to be interrupted.

“We just need the truth, Tony,” says Steve, carefully avoiding looking directly at the glossies on the table. “We won’t blame you, but we need to know.”

Tony clenches his jaw, his tongue pressing up against the roof of his mouth, and holds Steve’s eyes. Steve is making that _face_ , that determined but sympathetic ‘hey man somebody’s got to be this fucking noble and it’s not like _you_ could ever be good enough’ face that Tony hates. They stare for an uncomfortably long time, neither backing down, until Thor’s hand lands on Tony’s shoulder.

“My brother is a man of many conquests,” Thor says, sympathetically. “I assure you, I understand how you might succumb to a man with such charms.”

All five of the other Avengers make the same face. “Erm...right,” says Tony. “As much as I’d love to hear more, Thor, let’s just get this over with: I. Did. Not. Sleep. With Loki. Not a little bit of fooling around, not a quickie in the broom closet, hell, I’ve never even _flirted_ with the guy. Those photos are either his idea of a joke, or else some kind of plot to cause trouble on the team. So call me a liar all you want, fine, see if I care, but while you’re busy assuming I’d screw anything that moves, maybe remember that I’ve never been ashamed of who or what I am. If I’d gone frolicking down the rainbow bridge with Loki, I’d have the damn balls to admit it, okay?”

Clint is smiling. Bruce, as usual when he _is_ Bruce, is practicing the art of zen, but if Tony has to guess, he thinks the jolly green giant is on his side. Natasha is still glaring like she’s going to murder him in his sleep, but Tony thinks that dying in bed with a woman in a catsuit is really the way he was headed all along. Thor is Thor, smiling and easily led; he’ll go with the consensus of the crowd. But that still leaves the opinion that actually matters.

Steve nods with all the solemnity of a judge pronouncing sentence--and yes, that’s a sight that Tony is more comfortable with than has ever wanted to be--and holds out his hand. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” he says.

Tony wants to be annoyed. He wants to be really fucking pissed that Captain High-and-Mighty thinks it’s okay to take a renegade god’s word over Tony’s, even temporarily. He wants to make a show of not caring what Cap thinks about him, because pretending not to care what people thinks about him is--after a long list of other things he does exceptionally well--what Tony does best.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony mumbles, and shakes Steve’s hand.

“Right,” says Steve, with a small smile, and lets Tony go. “On to the next thing. Have any of you been briefed on this thing with the mole men in Brooklyn?


	5. Natasha/Steve

"I can't _believe_ you don't think I could do it."

“It’s not a pissing contest, Natasha. I just don’t think you’re his type.”

“He has literally _no_ experience. In what possible world could I not play him like a concert violin?”

“Yeah, but he’s got that whole pure as the driven snow, man of unshakable conviction thing going on," Clint argues. "I mean, hey, I'm the _last_ guy to argue that you're anything other than more gorgeous than should be legal without a permit, 'Tasha..."

"Even you aren't _that_ much of an idiot."

"...but what I'm saying is, I think you're underestimating him, is all. Man's got... _fiber_ , or something. The moral variety, not the kind you get from eating your Wheaties. Though knowing him, Mr. All-American does that, too."

Steve Rogers chooses that moment to wander into the lounge. "Hey, Cap," calls Clint. "You're just in time to settle an argument."

"Clint..." says Natasha, in a tone that implies that continuing is likely to result in permanent damage to any number of Clint's soft organs. Clint being Clint, however, his only acknowledgment is a grin and a 'you know you love me really' flutter of his eyelashes.

"I'm happy to help if I can," says Steve.

"Right," says Clint. "Simple question..." He inclines his head in Natasha's direction. "Would you tap that?"

"You," Natasha mutters under her breath, "are going to suffer long and slow for this."

"You make such pretty promises," Clint fires back.

"I...sorry?" Steve asks. "I don't think that's a phrase I've heard yet."

Natasha glares one more time at Clint, then slides from the couch and crosses the room. She moves something like a dancer, and something like a cat, and entirely like Natasha, and when she's well within Steve's personal space, she slides her arms around his neck.

"What he means," says Natasha, as Steve blushes, "is, would you kiss me, if I asked you _very_ nicely?"

"Oh," says Steve. "Uh. I...I don't...the team..."

"One little kiss," says Natasha, holding Steve's gaze with almost hypnotic intensity as he tries and fails to look away, "just to stop a lady being bagered by her obnoxious teammate." Natasha looks over her shoulder long enough for a brief glare at Clint, who waggles his fingers contentedly, and then she turns back to Steve. "Am I really so hideous that you can't even stomach the thought?"

"No! No, of course not," Steve says, his cheeks going even redder. "No, you’re very... I'm just not sure that..."

"Captain," says Natasha, "I'm going to kiss you now."

"Right," Steve manages.

Natasha threads her fingers into Steve's hair, and presses the whole length of her body against his as their mouths meet. After several seconds, Cap's hands assume a surprisingly competent pair of positions along her spine, and when Natasha's tongue slides hot and wet into his mouth, he manages only a slight enough jump to avoid breaking the kiss. Only when his hair is thoroughly mussed and his mouth thoroughly lipstick-stained does Natasha pull her lips away and recross the room, not a hint less graceful or steady than a moment ago. Steve stands stupefied, unmoving, apparently fighting to even begin to process the events of the past few seconds.

"Damn, 'Tasha," says Clint, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his hands behind his head. "I should've thought to dare you to get _me_ to kiss you."

"Too late for that," she says, with a tiny, satisfied smile. "You had your shot."

"I always hit my shots!"

"Sorry, arrow boy, but even you can't hit a target _this_ far above your head." Natasha smirks. "And Steve?"

Steve turns to look at her, standing in the doorway. His expression is still more than a little stunned.

"Thanks," she says. Her expression is unfamiliar to both men: a genuine smile, nothing hidden or sarcastic about it.

"My pleasure."


End file.
